Friday Night
by charliedalton
Summary: Charlie is a distraction, and Cameron talks too much. Slash.


"Charlie! How many times do I have to tell you; Hager's gonna come in here any minute!" The redhead was sat at his desk, trig book splayed open and a blunt pencil in his hand. He probably hadn't noticed that it was blunt, having been unable to put pen to paper yet, thanks to – one guess – Charlie loud-mouth Dalton.

"Dick, it's Friday night." Charlie shrugged and lifted an eyebrow to suggest he couldn't care less about Cameron's futile attempts to silence him. However, it was quite the contrary. He was having too much fun winding Dick up, exploring the lengths in which the ginger would go to keep himself away from and out of trouble. Charlie assumed the student would eventually give up and take his work to the Study Hall, which would be a gift sent down from Heaven, because Charlie would have the room to himself for an hour or two. Who works on Friday nights anyway?

He wasn't causing any trouble. He was only creating grating sounds of music (if you could go so far as to call it 'music') with his saxophone. Ear-bleeding noises which made even him cringe; though only inwardly. It was only something past eight in the evening, and it was the start of the weekend. Every boy in the school was still wide awake with plans of spending the night entertaining themselves with card games or dirty magazines – or, for the more daring, sneaking off the grounds to spend the night elsewhere. Hager was a stiff, if ever there was one; but even that old bastard would tolerate noise until at least 9pm on a Friday night. Cameron, of course, was more uptight, and believed weekends were made for extra work time. Charlie supposed they were – in this school, at least – but that never stopped the boys from being lazy. And rightfully so!

Another harsh blow on his saxophone, and Cameron almost leaped right out of his skin, earning a large grin from the boy with the instrument. Richard's face coloured, almost matching his hair, and he glared at Charlie from his place at his desk. "Will you stop making those horrendous noises?" He snapped, eyes narrowing as he spoke. "At least play in tune, if you insist on playing at all."

"Where's the fun in that?" Charlie, with his ever cocked eyebrow, brought the instrument to his lips again and played another tune that could only be described as a jumble of odd notes and riffs that could trigger the very worst migraines.

Cameron groaned loudly, and slammed his trig book shut. One point to Charlie. "You can leave, you know, if you're that bored."

"Oh, I know." Charlie retorted simply. "The others are hanging around in Neil's room, I think. But it wouldn't be fair to leave you here all by yourself! What kind of friend would I be then?" The mock-genuine comment fell easily from his lips, but Cameron wasn't convinced, and he hadn't even intended on trying to convince the boy. That would be pointless.

"I really need to get this work done."

"But it's Friday night. You have Saturday and Sunday to finish your work."

"That's not the point. I want to finish it tonight, so I can move on to other work on Saturday and Sunday."

"Look, you've been working all week. We all have! Even God rested on Friday night."

"…God rested on Sunday."

Charlie rolled his eyes, positively pissed off with his roommate. "Sunday, whatever. What's the difference? The point is, God _rested_." He smirked slightly. "Of course _Richard Cameron_ would think he's more omnipotent than God Himself."

Cameron practically snorted. Who was Charlie Dalton to imply somebody held an inappropriate amount of self-importance? He opened his mouth to speak; not really knowing what words would come out yet, but was cut off by the resumed glass-shattering melody emerging from the sax.

The redhead simply shook his head and turned his back on Charlie. Perhaps not paying any attention to his stupid behaviour would eventually put a stop to it. It was only logical. But who was he kidding? Charlie Dalton was relentless, and Cameron was too impatient to endure him for much longer.

"Charlie," he mumbled, inaudible below the terrible sound emanating from the musical instrument that was steadily becoming the bane of his life. "Charlie," he spoke louder this time, and Charlie heard, because he shot a glance in his direction before averting his gaze away and then closing his eyes completely. "Charlie!" He shouted his name, and Dalton smirked around the mouthpiece, but continued anyway.

Charlie was a self-proclaimed pain in the ass, and he was rather proud of his accomplishment so far this evening. Seeing Dick's face light up and take on the same shade as his hair was worth the vague dizziness he was experiencing from playing too long with no breaths in between. But when he did stop to take a breath, he was surprised to see Cameron striding towards his bed, a look of determination he'd never seen before etched upon his face. The expression alone was so startling and didn't quite seem to fit on Cameron's face, that Charlie didn't have the chance to stop his roommate from leaning forward and seizing the instrument from his grip with an amount of force that was almost as shocking as the look on his face.

"Hey!" Charlie called and reached out automatically, but Cameron was by his own bed now, which was a stupid way to go, as this enabled Charlie to corner him. "You really should've headed towards the door."

Cameron sighed, but the look on his face suggested that he'd realised his mistake. "I don't want you playing this stupid thing while I'm working! It's loud and obnoxious and you're giving me a headache." His back was up against the wall now that Charlie had moved closer, and he clutched onto the saxophone as though his life depended on it. He believed that, with the instrument out of harm's way, Charlie would murder him for touching it – so his life really _did_ depend on it.

"Hand me the sax." Charlie said calmly, extending his arm and holding out his hand expectantly. "Come on, _Dick, _it's mine."

At this point, it had become a tug-of-war between the two boys. Cameron was clinging onto the saxophone with both hands, and Charlie was tugging with one hand, the other rested against the wall, acting as a barrier to prevent Cameron from dodging to his side and freeing himself from the trap. Both boys knew that Charlie was that bit stronger, yet there was still a slight struggle, and something about the situation made Charlie reconsider yanking the instrument away and knocking Cameron over while he was at it. He really should have, but he didn't make that move. Instead, he continued to play the game.

"Charlie, no," Cameron was pulling as hard as he could, his back and shoulders pressed firmly against the wall. He didn't really know what he was doing, or what possessed him to approach Charlie and take the sax away in the first place. By now, he'd usually have given up, handed back the instrument and suffered with a headache for the rest of the night, but sometimes Dalton would take things _too_ far and push his patience like nobody else could. He was fed up of always giving in to him. Charlie walked all over him and knew exactly what he was doing, too. "I don't want you to play this thing in our room! Can't you save it for when I'm not around? Why don't you annoy the others? I'm sure they're wondering where you are."

Charlie sighed as he tugged lightly, his grip relatively loose around the instrument now. Initially, he could have punched Cameron right there and then for touching his things, but now, he couldn't care less. He was enjoying seeing Dick put up a fight for a change. It would usually all be over by now, and that was just boring. Cameron was still talking, pleading, complaining, lecturing, as Charlie rolled his eyes and looked directly at the redhead. The other boy seemed to be looking anywhere else but in Charlie's direction. Sometimes, his gaze would be fixed on the saxophone; then he'd stare at his own feet; he'd glance at Charlie's hand on the wall beside him; then at Charlie's grip on the instrument, but never right at him. It was amazing what you could pick up about a person when they didn't know you were looking at them… or _did_ Cameron know he was looking?

He wasn't paying attention to the words coming from his roommate. His own head had begun to ache due to the incessant whining and the thought of punching him was starting to regain its appeal.

Cameron couldn't half nag. Strangely enough, he reminded Charlie of a few girls he'd had the horror of meeting with in the past – particularly one girl he'd sneaked over to the cave with just a few weeks ago. It was odd to compare Richard Cameron to some of the girls he'd gotten off with, but Charlie quickly brushed that thought aside. The girl had been blonde, beautiful, and just a year or so older than Charlie – and _very_ easily persuaded. But she had also been a talker. The type who had something to say about everything, and couldn't care less if you were desperately trying to tell her that you were injured and in need of an ambulance. She'd finish her sentence before getting you help. And she was just talking and talking, like Cameron was doing now ("I know you don't do _your_ work, but I'd prefer not to get into trouble, so stop distracting me!"), and there was only really one thing he could do to shut her up. Where Cameron was concerned, this method was certainly unorthodox for _several reasons_, but surely it was just as appropriate, and surely it would be just as successful.

"Charlie? Hello? Are you even listening? I think we should come to some kind of agree-" Charlie just about lunged forward and crashed his lips against Cameron's, immediately cutting his miserable grumbling off. The urgent silence was heaven-sent; a pat on the back from God who was also bored of Cameron's yapping.

But it didn't last long. Not long at all. Cameron pulled away, almost banging his head against the wall behind him in his panic to break the contact. "What the hell was-" But Charlie leaned forward again, and reunited their lips with a less forceful approach this time.

Why? He didn't know. He didn't want to _think_ about the reasoning behind the second kiss. Charlie supposed it was to shut him up again. He longed for that brief moment of silence he'd experienced the first time their lips met. Anything to shut his roommate up; even if it meant locking lips and losing any ounce of dignity he once had.

Cameron was more compliant the second time round. Surprisingly compliant. He released his stubborn grip and Charlie found himself the owner of his saxophone again. Cameron was moving his lips against Charlie's, though his actions were more tentative and careful and mechanical than anybody he'd ever kissed before. The silence was fantastic and made Charlie's ears ring. But then a short sound from Cameron broke the quiet and Charlie almost rolled his eyes at the ginger boy's persistence, until he realised the sound was an involuntary moan, and he smirked into the kiss because he couldn't help feeling cocky over the fact he made the boot-licker sin _and_ enjoy it.

The kiss probably felt longer than it actually was, and soon came to an end when Charlie let his mind question his actions and Cameron brought a hand up to clutch his shirt collar to keep him close, which apparently was all he needed to bring him back to reality.

Charlie was the first to pull away. Cameron dropped his hand from the other boy's shirt. Their breathing was erratic and more audible than usual, as both boys tried to catch their breath and steady their heartbeat. Charlie could feel Cameron's eyes on him, but he couldn't return the gaze. He wasn't comfortable with the sudden role reversal, and it almost seemed as though Cameron was more in control of the situation than he was.

He fixed his tie and grabbed the sax, dropping it off on his bed before opening the door. Cameron was still against the wall, knees weak and in need of some sort of stabiliser to keep him from falling down completely. Charlie cleared his throat and made the best arrogant face he could produce under the circumstances, braving a look at Cameron. "I'm off to annoy the others for a while. Make the most of the time you have alone." His tone left the statement ambiguous and open to interpretation.

Cameron just gawped at the boy as he left the room and closed the door behind him. When he was able to muster the strength, he stumbled away from the wall and sat in his place at his desk, dreading the weekly meeting with the rest of the Society that would begin in just a few hours. Once again, the trig book was opened to reveal numbers and letters that had made sense minutes ago but could not be deciphered now.


End file.
